


sin before thy father

by projectfreelancer



Category: Kaze to Ki no Uta | Song of Wind and Trees
Genre: Catholic Guilt, Catholic School, Fallen Angel, M/M, fallen angel AU, religious metaphors for days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 06:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4338428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/projectfreelancer/pseuds/projectfreelancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gilbert meets Serge in church. (Also Gilbert is a sinful fallen angel.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	sin before thy father

**Author's Note:**

> I blame GC. It's all zir fault. 
> 
> The title is a reference to Jonathon & david in the Bible.  
> Also Auguste was an angel, but fell, that's why Gilbert did.  
> Sara e Kali is the patron Rromani Saint.  
> Me Kamuv tut is I Love You in Rromanes.  
> SERGE IS RROMANI, don't forget that.

To describe in words Gilbert would be—be blasphemy. Gilbert is a god with the sunset soaked into his skin, the rays dazzling into his curls, his eyes the green of a forest, his lips—Serge is not in love with him.

Serge, the dark boy with a rosary in one hand and a bible in the other—Oh Mother Mary, Oh Sara la Kali—sits at the pew. He feels feverish, with devotion and admiration; perhaps obsession. Serge is not sure there’s a difference between the two when it comes to Gilbert.

He prays a decade of the Rosary with his eyes shut, but they snap open at the slightest rustle.

Adorning the tabernacle, the lighting through the stained glass sticking to his skin, is Gilbert. Serge blinks, and blinks, and inhales. “How did you get in here so quietly?” he had to pass in front of him. Gilbert is not one for silent entrances.

A smirk. A giggle—God is on fire. “I can go anywhere in the Lord’s name. This is the Lord’s house as much as it is mine.” There is a dizzying sound, a flutter of motion, and the—the boy is next to him, eyes only on him. A hand on his thigh, searing like Lucifer himself has him in his grasp.

“Why don’t you caress me with that hand you hold the bible in?”

Serge must stop breathing, his heart must stop beating, and Gilbert must be a demon. An angel, a god, something divine yet so tempting and destructive.

“Gilbert, this is Church. We cannot sin here.” The boy laughs at that, not his usual sly one, but loud and bright and bitter.

“You are disgusting. You say we cannot sin here, yet what makes anywhere else different? Our God will banish us no matter what we do, don’t you understand? Do you think I lied when I said I knew of the Holy Land, and the Beginning, and the End? That when I said I fell for Augu, you thought I meant fell in love? As if our kind can be so easily swayed by love. Lust and destruction is all we will ever feel.”

Gilbert’s hands detract from Serge’s thigh. A new sort of light dances around Gilbert. It looks as if he is on fire, yet he is not. “Gilbert…” Serge stops and puts the beads and book down. “I would believe anything you say. And I believe that you can feel more than just what they taught you.”

Gilbert’s eyes are back on his—eyes that must have seen empires fall and kingdoms rise. How can Serge’s own compare to ones that have seen the face of their Father and his people? How must the lips that have drank water out of the Holy heaven’s lakes feel among a humans? Does God not love all he creates? If God had a favourite, Gilbert must be the one.

Gilbert whispers, “There is no human like you.” Serge knows he is not lying—Auguste is not a human.

With the words said, Serge rushes to touch their lips. When they connect, the angel’s mouth is a crooked smile that warps his heart. And it is no divine intervention, their kiss, but Serge feels as if his lungs are drowning in holy water. Who could not be tempted by this passion? Gilbert’s hands are in Serge’s curls, and had Judas felt this way when he kissed Jesus? Could God truly deny them this moment, to be ruined by an eternity in Hell? The words of the Bible never tasted as sweet as Gilbert Cocteau does.

The kiss must not last longer than a minute, but Gilbert who has spanned the universe, feels as if it was older than he. Serge will not meet Gilbert’s eyes, his breathe weak. The words fall from his mouth in the language of his mother, “Me kamuv tut.”

Gilbert stops, a pause in time. His breathy laugh sounds like a hymn. “I know every language there ever was to exist. Yet yours must be the most beautiful.”  


And then—the angel is gone. As if God had sent a demon to tempt him. And Serge had failed. Yet, it does not feel like failure, as Serge knows that the boy will be back at their room. He always is after these moments.

Serge does not finish his prayers and he does not go to scheduled confession that night or mass the next day. He finds the Lord’s Home in Gilbert.


End file.
